Thomas Carew: Verses about Love

The Primrose

Ask me why I send you hereThe firstling of the infant year;Ask me why I send to youThis primrose all bepearled with dew:I straight will whisper in your ears,The sweets of love are washed with tears.Ask me why this flower doth showSo yellow, green, and sickly too;Ask me why the stalk is weakAnd bending, yet it doth not break:I must tell you, these discoverWhat doubts and fears are in a lover.

Song: Mediocrity In Love Rejected

Give me more love, or more disdain; The torrid or the frozen zone Bring equal ease unto my pain, The temperate affords me none; Either extreme, of love or hate, Is sweeter than a calm estate.

Give me a storm; if it be love, Like Danae in that golden shower, I swim in pleasure; if it prove Disdain, that torrent will devour My vulture hopes; and he's possessed Of heaven, that's but from hell released. Then crown my joys, or cure my pain; Give me more love, or more disdain.

Song. Mediocrity In Love Rejected.

GIVE me more love or more disdain ; The torrid or the frozen zone Bring equal ease unto my pain, The temperate affords me none : Either extreme of love or hate, Is sweeter than a calm estate.

Give me a storm ; if it be love, Like Danaë in that golden shower, I swim in pleasure ; if it prove Disdain, that torrent will devour My vulture-hopes ; and he's possess'd Of heaven, that's but from hell released. Then crown my joys or cure my pain : Give me more love or more disdain.

Mediocrity In Love Rejected

Give me more love or more disdain; The torrid, or the frozen zone, Bring equal ease unto my pain; The temperate affords me none; Either extreme, of love, or hate, Is sweeter than a calm estate.

Give me a storm; if it be love, Like Danae in that golden show'r I swim in pleasure; if it prove Disdain, that torrent will devour My vulture-hopes; and he's possess'd Of heaven, that's but from hell releas'd.

Then crown my joys, or cure my pain; Give me more love, or more disdain.

Song: Eternity Of Love Protested

How ill doth he deserve a lover's name, Whose pale weak flame Cannot retain His heat, in spite of absence or disdain; But doth at once, like paper set on fire, Burn and expire; True love can never change his seat, Nor did her ever love, that could retreat.

That noble flame which my breast keeps alive Shall still survive When my soul's fled; Nor shall my love die when my body's dead, That shall wait on me to the lower shade, And never fade; My very ashes in their urn Shall, like a hallow'd lamp, forever burn.

Boldness In Love

Mark how the bashful morn in vainCourts the amorous marigold,With sighing blasts and weeping rain,Yet she refuses to unfold.But when the planet of the dayApproacheth with his powerful ray,The she spreads, then she receivesHis warmer beams into her virgin leaves.

So shalt thou thrive in love, fond boy;If thy tears and sighs discoverThy grief, thou never shalt enjoyThe just reward of a bold lover.But when with moving accents thouShalt constant faith and service vow,Thy Celia shall receive those charmsWith open ears, and with unfolded arms.

But thou repli'st, "behold, she bleeds!"Fool! thou 'rt deceiv'd, and dost not knowThe mystic knot whence this proceeds,How lovers in each other grow:Thou struck'st her arm, but 'twas my heartShed all the blood, felt all the smart.

I Do Not Love Thee For That Fair

I do not love thee for that fairRich fan of thy most curious hair;Though the wires thereof be drawnFiner than threads of lawn,And are softer than the leavesOn which the subtle spider weaves.

I do not love thee for those flowersGrowing on thy cheeks, love's bowers;Though such cunning them hath spread,None can paint them white and red:Love's golden arrows thence are shot,Yet for them I love thee not.

I do not love thee for those softRed coral lips I've kissed so oft,Nor teeth of pearl, the double guardTo speech whence music still is heard;Though from those lips a kiss being takenMighty tyrants melt, and death awaken.

I do not love thee, O my fairest,For that richest, for that rarestSilver pillar, which stands underThy sound head, that globe of wonder;Though that neck be whiter farThan towers of polished ivory are.

The Spring

Now that the winter's gone, the earth hath lost Her snow-white robes, and now no more the frost Candies the grass, or casts an icy cream Upon the silver lake or crystal stream; But the warm sun thaws the benumbed earth, And makes it tender; gives a sacred birth To the dead swallow; wakes in hollow tree The drowsy cuckoo and the humble-bee. Now do a choir of chirping minstrels bring In triumph to the world the youthful spring. The valleys, hills, and woods in rich array Welcome the coming of the long'd-for May. Now all things smile; only my love doth lour; Nor hath the scalding noonday sun the power To melt that marble ice, which still doth hold Her heart congeal'd, and makes her pity cold. The ox, which lately did for shelter fly Into the stall, doth now securely lie In open fields; and love no more is made By the fireside, but in the cooler shade Amyntas now doth with his Chloris sleep Under a sycamore, and all things keep Time with the season; only she doth carry June in her eyes, in her heart January.

To A. L. Persuasions To Love.

THINK not, 'cause men flattering sayYou're fresh as April, sweet as May,Bright as is the morning star,That you are so ; or, though you are,Be not therefore proud, and deemAll men unworthy your esteem :For, being so, you lose the pleasureOf being fair, since that rich treasureOf rare beauty and sweet featureWas bestow'd on you by natureTo be enjoy'd ; and 'twere a sinThere to be scarce, where she hath binSo prodigal of her best graces.Thus common beauties and mean facesShall have more pastime, and enjoyThe sport you lose by being coy.Did the thing for which I sueOnly concern myself, not you ;Were men so framed as they aloneReap'd all the pleasure, women none ;Then had you reason to be scant :But 'twere a madness not to grantThat which affords (if you consent)To you the giver, more contentThan me, the beggar. Oh, then beKind to yourself, if not to me.Starve not yourself, because you mayThereby make me pine away ;Nor let brittle beauty makeYou your wiser thoughts forsake ;For that lovely face will fail.Beauty's sweet, but beauty's frail,'Tis sooner past, 'tis sooner done,Than summer's rain, or winter's sun ; Most fleeting, when it is most dear,'Tis gone, while we but say 'tis here.These curious locks, so aptly twined,Whose every hair a soul doth bind,Will change their auburn hue and growWhite and cold as winter's snow.That eye, which now is Cupid's nest,Will prove his grave, and all the restWill follow ; in the cheek, chin, nose,Nor lily shall be found, nor rose.And what will then become of allThose whom now you servants call ?Like swallows, when your summer's done,They'll fly, and seek some warmer sun.Then wisely choose one to your friendWhose love may, when your beauties end,Remain still firm : be provident,And think, before the summer's spent,Of following winter ; like the ant, In plenty hoard for time of scant.Cull out, amongst the multitudeOf lovers, that seek to intrudeInto your favour, one that mayLove for an age, not for a day ;One that will quench your youthful fires,And feed in age your hot desires.For when the storms of time have movedWaves on that cheek which was beloved,When a fair lady's face is pined,And yellow spread where once red shined ;When beauty, youth, and all sweets leave her,Love may return, but lover never :And old folks say there are no painsLike itch of love in aged veins.O love me, then, and now begin it,Let us not lose this present minute ;For time and age will work that wrackWhich time or age shall ne'er call back.The snake each year fresh skin resumes,And eagles change their aged plumes ;The faded rose each spring receivesA fresh red tincture on her leaves :But if your beauties once decay,You never know a second May.O then, be wise, and whilst your seasonAffords you days for sport, do reason ;Spend not in vain your life's short hour,But crop in time your beauty's flower,Which will away, and doth togetherBoth bud and fade, both blow and wither.

My Mistress Commanding Me To Return Her Letters.

SO grieves th' adventurous merchant, when he throws All the long toil'd-for treasure his ship stows Into the angry main, to save from wrack Himself and men, as I grieve to give back These letters : yet so powerful is your sway As if you bid me die, I must obey. Go then, blest papers, you shall kiss those hands That gave you freedom, but hold me in bands ; Which with a touch did give you life, but I, Because I may not touch those hands, must die. Methinks, as if they knew they should be sent Home to their native soil from banishment ; I see them smile, like dying saints that know They are to leave the earth and toward heaven go. When you return, pray tell your sovereign And mine, I gave you courteous entertain ; Each line received a tear, and then a kiss ; First bathed in that, it 'scaped unscorch'd from this : I kiss'd it because your hand had been there ; But, 'cause it was not now, I shed a tear. Tell her, no length of time, nor change of air, No cruelty, disdain, absence, despair, No, nor her steadfast constancy, can deter My vassal heart from ever honouring her. Though these be powerful arguments to prove I love in vain, yet I must ever love. Say, if she frown, when you that word rehearse, Service in prose is oft called love in verse : Then pray her, since I send back on my part Her papers, she will send me back my heart. If she refuse, warn her to come before The god of love, whom thus I will implore : “ Trav'lling thy country's road, great god, I spied By chance this lady, and walk'd by her side From place to place, fearing no violence, For I was well arm'd, and had made defence In former fights 'gainst fiercer foes than she Did at our first encounter seem to be. But, going farther, every step reveal'd Some hidden weapon till that time conceal'd ; Seeing those outward arms, I did begin To fear some greater strength was lodged within ; Looking into her mind, I might survey An host of beauties, that in ambush lay, And won the day before they fought the field, For I, unable to resist, did yield. But the insulting tyrant so destroys My conquer'd mind, my ease, my peace, my joys, Breaks my sweet sleeps, invades my harmless rest, Robs me of all the treasure of my breast, Spares not my heart, nor yet a greater wrong, For, having stol'n my heart, she binds my tongue. But at the last her melting eyes unseal'd My lips, enlarged my tongue : then I reveal'd To her own ears the story of my harms, Wrought by her virtues and her beauty's charms. Now hear, just judge, an act of savageness ; When I complain, in hope to find redress, She bends her andry brow, and from her eye Shoots thousand darts ; I then well hoped to dieBut in such sovereign balm Love dips his shot, That, though they wound a heart, they kill it not. She saw the blood gush forth from many a wound, Yet fled, and left me bleeding on the ground, Nor sought my cure, nor saw me since : 'tis true, Absence and Time, two cunning leaches, drew The flesh together, yet, sure, though the skin Be closed without, the wound festers within. Thus hath this cruel lady used a true Servant and subject to herself and you ; Nor know I, great Love, if my life be lent To show thy mercy or my punishment : Since by the only magic of thy art A lover still may live that wants his heart. If this indictment fright her, so as she Seem willing to return my heart to me, But cannot find it (for perhaps it may, 'Mongst other trifling hearts, be out o' th' way); If she repent and would make me amends, Bid her but send me hers, and we are friends.”